Psychobilly Tyler
by tethe'alla
Summary: Narrator/Tyler POV "You were a decent friend, Bob..." The man once known as Cornelius said.


Wow, this is the worst thing I have ever written in my entire life. But I feel Bob needs more closure than a fucking garden burial!

Also, this is in the POV of Narrator when he is NOT in control of his little Tyler moments. And yes, I know I use the word 'fuck' all the time, but that's sort of how the movie goes. Anyways, I felt I had to write this in closure of Robert 'Bob' Paulson.

Also Heath Ledger died today.

xxxxx

His name was Robert Paulson. But I knew him as Bob; Bob, the man with bitch tits.

How did I meet Bob? Through the First Methodist testicular cancer group therapy sessions. Every Tuesday night. I go to therapy sessions for ailments I don't have...it helps me sleep. It's cheaper than a movie, and there's free coffee.

Why did Bob have bitch tits? His doctor prescribed him estrogen to counter all those cancerous cells raging through his body. That pathetic man. Not only was he missing his balls, but he had huge triple E-sized knockers.

Now I know testicular cancer sounds bad to the lay-person. Cancer does not concern me. Neither does murder, crime, poverty or terrorism. What concerns me is fucking celebrity magazines, television channels with five-_hundred_ channels, people who buy furniture because they think it "defines them as a person". Martha Stewart, that bitch who's polishing the brass on the Titanic. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra! It's all going down. But I felt sorry for Bob, regardless. No, his cancer did not kill him. The police killed him with one simple bullet through that thick skull of his.

xxxxx

"We wanted to ruin the corporate statue, while simultaneously destroying the yuppie coffee house that all those financial advisors go to..." Angel Face explained.

"...To kill two birds with one stone," Steph finished.

"You killed three. The statue. The coffee house. And Bob," I said non-chalantly. Obviously seeing one of my closest friends go wasn't that big of a deal to me. "How did he die? Did the statue topple onto the fat man?" Even after he was dead, no one, not even me, could lay off the 'fat man' jokes.

"Those...those _fucking pigs_!" The mechanic shot out. Odd. I do recall him laughing at that one families' death. _Three points for the infant's head through the window...Heh, look, the teen's braces are still wrapped around the ashtray...The driver must've been huge, the fat of the victim is burnt all over the front seat. Gross._

"Fucking...pigs..?" I am Jack's cloudly understanding.

"They shot him in the head, the fucking head, man..." The mechanic seems to be taking death seriously for once. The things Project Mayhem can do to people.

"You morons! What did you expect?! You were running around in ski masks, blowing things up! Jesus Christ..." Whoa. Hold on there, since when was I, Mr. Ikea boy, so...so psychobilly?

With that, Angel Face took off the black ski mask that shielded the members' views from Bob's messed-up head. What happened next was disgusting. More disgusting than making soap from human fat from a liposuction clinic. Bob's brains fell to the floor. A gasp of horror came from the Space Monkeys. I didn't blame them. That very well could've been them.

"We have to get rid of the evidence!" Angel Face announced to everyone in the house. A murmur of agreement rose in his favor. Damn.

"Bury him in the garden!" ...Another wonderful suggestion, but this time, from Steph. I am so glad I beat the shit out of that guy the other day.

"No! Bob is a human being! We. Are. Not. Fucking. Burying. Him. In. The. Fucking. Garden." I could not have been more clear. This is my fucking dilapidated house, so they should follow my fucking rules.

xxxxx

After my period of Enlightenment, which happened hundreds of miles away from the house I lived in, I came home. Home, to that fucking dialpidated house, with the fucking garden, _with a fucking shallow grave made next to the shitty golf course I had made earlier before._

Those god damn Space Monkeys never listened to their Reverend -- me.

After going back into the sorry place I call home, I got the shovel. The same shovel I used to beat the first Space Monkey.

I was going to dig Bob back up and let him have the proper burial he deserved.

But I couldn't. I fucking couldn't.

I couldn't destroy something beautiful, not this time.

I let Bob and his bitch tits have their peace.

Well...sort of. I had to give him a farewell speech. A farewell from this hell called Project Mayhem.

"You were a decent friend, Bob," The man once known as Cornelius said.


End file.
